


Deep Cover

by masterroadtripper



Category: Chicago Fire, Chicago Med, Chicago PD (TV), Original Work
Genre: Angst, Based on Chicago Fire Season 2, Coworkers are mean sometimes, Grief/Mourning, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 10:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterroadtripper/pseuds/masterroadtripper
Summary: Jesse McLeod is a firefighter with the Chicago Fire Department.  One of her older brothers works at Chicago Med, the other with the Chicago PD.  When Lee goes undercover with a mob and is shot, Jesse must try to balance home and work life while trying to apply to transfer to Squad 3.





	Deep Cover

“Do you want a form to transfer to Rescue Squad?” The grey-haired, nasal receptionist repeated Jesse’s request. She stood in the lobby of the Chicago Fire Academy, the big brick building built at the location that the Great Chicago Fire was started. The story supposedly was that Ms. O’Leary was milking a cow in her barn when the burly beast kicked over the lantern, which then preceded to burn a significant portion of Chicago down. However, the story took place 145 years ago, and Jesse bet something entirely different happened.

The inside of the building was painted a light blue and it was stifling hot, even though it was the end of October. It was a sunny day, and Jesse wished that she could be outside before the cold of November came.

“Yes. Please. A transfer form,” Jesse vocalized her request once again for the receptionist’s sake.

“Do you know which Firehouse you want to be at?” the receptionist asked. Jesse sighed inwardly and regarded the old lady with a skeptical look. She had to be at least eighty and had glasses as thick as pop bottle lids perched on top of a chubby red nose.

“Which Station has an open space on Rescue Squad?” Jesse asked, getting frustrated. It was not like Jesse was privy to that type of information and she had hoped that this part of her errands would take the least amount of time.

“There is a spot open at Houses 27 and 38,” the receptionist read off her computer.

“I’ll go to either of them,” Jesse replied. The lady started clacking away on her old standard issue computer, and soon, two sheets of paper were printed off from the printer, which sat precariously on the wood counter. One sheet was pink, the generic transfer slip and the other was plain white regarding the other transfer information for the move to Squad.

Squad was Jesse’s end goal as a firefighter. It required an extra forty-eight hours of training, including a written and physical evaluation. After passing all of the tests, she could apply for a transfer. Squad dealt with water rescues, trapped victims, and other more difficult maneuvers that Truck firefighters were not qualified to perform. Only a half of firehouses in Chicago had a certified Squad team, and of those, only a third of them actually had a Squad rig.

Jesse grabbed the papers from the old sun bleached printer and thanked the receptionist.  She walked out of the City of Chicago Fire Academy building and headed to her SUV. There was a slight breeze and Jesse put the two pieces of paper between her lips, effectively holding them in place while she zipped up her jacket. The trees lining the street were changing colors and some were dropping their leaves. A gust of wind blew down De Koven Street as Jesse crossed the road. She looked back toward the Academy and smiled. It had been two years since she graduated basic training and she was already applying for Squad. Her shift started at ten o’clock this morning, and Jesse had promised to carpool with one of her older brothers.

* * *

“Ben is coming to pick you up after your shift ends,” One of Jesse’s older brothers, Lee, told her as they drove toward Firehouse 17, where Jesse worked. She sat in the passenger seat of Lee’s beat up black Honda Civic and picked at the faded leather covering the dashboard, something to distract her from the looming discussion.

“We’ll miss you Lee,” Jesse said, “When will you be back?”

“Don’t know. Might see you around. Though, I’m no longer Lee McLeod, and I’m no longer your brother.” Lee worked in the Narcotics Unit with the Chicago Police Department at the 41st Precinct. He was recently assigned to follow a drug smuggler undercover, and he was not allowed to have purposeful contact with anyone he previously knew.

“Here,” Lee said, reaching into his navy blue tee shirt and producing his faded metallic dog tags from his days in the Army. With one hand, he pulled them up over his shaggy, dark red hair and gave them to Jesse. “Keep these safe.”

Jesse pulled the tags over her red ponytail and tucked them into her House 17 grey and black shift fatigues. She looked at Lee and thought how similar they looked. All three of the McLeod children looked similar with red hair, blue eyes, and tall and masculine, even Jesse. When they pulled up to House 17 Jesse’s heart sank. Lee was her best friend and her brother. She knew that this could be the last time she saw Lee living and breathing.

“Be safe,” he told her as Jesse stepped out of Lee’s Civic onto the cracked sidewalk that ran in front of house 17.

“I always am,” Jesse responded, swinging her navy blue duffel bag over her shoulder. As she walked up the long apron in front of the firehouse, Jesse turned around just long enough to see Lee drive away.

House 17 was in the nice, calm, North Chicago neighbourhood of Skokie. They got five calls a shift on average, but could go days without a fire. It was one of the twenty historic Firehouses left in Chicago and was built like a castle; a very small castle. There were only two bays for all four rigs, but with careful parking, it could be done. The building was brick and three stories tall. The bottom floor consisted of the rig bays, the gear room and the dispatch office. The second floor had the common room, kitchen and Chief Lois’s office. On the top floor was the bunk room, locker room and showers.

In the recently renovated co-ed change room, Jesse opened her locker and stared at a picture of her family. It was taken ten years ago at Camp Meade, right before Lee was sent to Afghanistan. She was ten, Lee was eighteen and Ben was twenty-one. They stood in front of a dark grey army issue transport plane, Lee in his sand coloured uniform and she was sitting on his shoulders. Jesse smiled, remembering how happy they were.

Jesse’s locker was one in a row of ten. There was a bench running down the middle and more lockers on the other side. On the lockers were their names; written in Sharpie on a piece of Scotch Tape. They were full size lockers with a shelf separating the top sixth from the rest.

“Is that your family?” Jesse spun around and was face to face with Squad 6 firefighter Terry Sousa. He was taller than Jesse, probably by three inches, with toned eastern European skin and dark brown hair. Sousa was the youngest firefighter on Squad and was the candidate before Jesse.

“What?” Jesse asked, leaning on her beige locker door, effectively covering the picture with her body.

“The people in the picture that you are hiding,” Sousa said turning away to open his locker which was on the other side of the bench from Jesse’s.

“They are,” Jesse stated, “You probably know my eldest brother, Ben. He works at Chicago Med. My other brother, Lee, is a cop.”

“I think I’ve met Dr. McLeod. He’s a resident doctor at the ER, right?”

Two bells chimed and the whole house went quiet. “Truck 29, Squad 6, Ambulance 12, Engine 17, Battalion 92. House fire. Cleveland Street and Skokie Boulevard,” the empty dispatch voice announced over the PA system. Everyone rushed to the rig deck. The crew ran everywhere, pulling off shoes, and pulling on their steel toe boots connected to fire retardant coveralls. Jesse pulled her jacket from the hook where it hung to dry and threw it onto her seat in Truck 29 before climbing in.

The call was close to the house, only two blocks east. From when the trucks pulled out, sirens and rotating lights on, they could see the smoke. It was an abandoned house, but Lieutenant Carter of Truck called to senior firefighter, Scott Kilgour and they entered the house for a quick search. Outside, Jesse stood with the rest of the crew, watching as Lewis “Milo” Korsak raised the aerial on top of Truck 29. Jesse turned and observed the house.

The flames roared and she noticed that the smoke started changing colours, from grey to black. Into the radio, mounted on the shoulder of her turnout gear Jesse radioed to all the companies on scene. “Guys, the smokes turning black.”

“All crews pull back, we’re going offensive,” Chief Lois radioed in response to her observation. Soon, Carter and Kilgour raced out of the house. Engine, already hooked up to the fire hydrant across the street had started spraying the burning carcass of the house.

After three hours they had done their burn checks, making sure there was no remaining fires that were still smouldering. They packed up their equipment and headed back into the house to overhaul. Overhaul was Jesse's least favourite part of going on call, but she gladly grabbed the Maglite that was handed to her and accompanied Scott Kilgour into the burnt out carcass of the house. Following him through the building, Kilgour would stop every so often to observe a burn mark. Jesse knew he was looking for a point of ignition or other evidence to mark for the Arson investigation team. At the academy, her trainer drilled it into their heads, _even if you catch a person holding a gas can and a match, arson is hard to investigate and even harder to prove._

After that dispatch, shift was quiet, only two more minor calls.

* * *

At ten o’clock in the morning, after the twenty-four hour shift ended, Ben arrived to pick Jesse up. It was a rare occasion that the end times of their shifts lined up, but would be even more rare if Lee’s lined up as well. Jesse sighed, unaware until now just how much she would miss Lee.

“Good morning Jessibelle,” Ben said, pushing the door of the battered red pickup open and Jesse threw her bag in the back row of seats before climbing in.

“The name’s Jesse,” she responded and Ben laughed. Being the eldest of the three McLeod children, Ben teased both of them relentlessly . At thirty-one, Ben was older than Lee by three years and older than Jesse by eleven years. Ben worked at Chicago Med and was finishing up his residency before becoming a full ER doctor.

As they drove toward their apartment, Jesse asked, “Do you think Lee will get off his assignment by Remembrance Day?”

“He hopes so. Lee signed up for the parade already,” Ben muttered. Every year since he came home from Afghanistan, Lee marched in the Chicago Civic Remembrance Day Parade and November 2016 would be the fifth time he would do so.

* * *

“I’m going out tonight,” Ben announced as they ate ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch. Their apartment was small, but that was okay. Each of them had their own bedrooms and the only other room was the kitchen. They sat in the kitchen of their small apartment on bar stools, leaning over the double sink, letting the crumbs fall into the drain. Doing this often, to reduce the task of washing dishes.

“That’s nice. With whom?” Jesse asked. Ben was engaged once, years ago, but it didn’t work out, they were too different.

“An accountant whom I met at Starbucks. Her name is Sophia.”

“I’ll go over to Sullivan’s tonight then.” It was a pub put together by two firefighters and a paramedic from 17. It was very popular among the civic services of Chicago from the north part of town. Jesse had gone once or twice before with Lee.

“Going with anyone?” Ben said while teasingly wiggling his eyebrows.

“No,” Jesse responded, giving Ben the stink eye, “Just going to socialize with my colleagues over a soda.”

“It better be soda, you’re still twenty,” Ben commented.

* * *

Jesse pulled open the stained wood door to the immense crowd that had decided to call Sullivan’s home for the night. Music played softly over the loudspeakers. It was a historic building built in Chicago’s heyday. Elaborate brickwork covered the outside of the single story building. A pub since it was built in 1958, all the equipment was original. Scott Kilgour made sure that during the renovation all the original things stayed. The pub was well lit and had two televisions, one on either side of the long, skinny room.

She spotted Lieutenant Carter almost immediately, his blond hair and his height setting him apart from the throng around him. As Jesse approached, she saw that the dark haired man standing with him was Terry Sousa. In observing the demographic of the pub, Jesse noticed that there were almost all the shift two staff from house 17 and a few people from Chicago Med, and as usual, there were a few average citizens.

“Crowded tonight,” Sousa said when Jesse approached.

“There’s not very many cops here,” She noticed.

“I saw Detective Wilkes and Kaige in plain clothes talking to someone by the bar,” Lieutenant Carter said. Wilkes and Kaige were Narcotics detectives and Lee's coworkers from the 41st. Scanning the crowd, Jesse found the brown ponytail belonging to Detective Meghan Wilkes and next to her stood her partner, Detective Ian Kaige and they were talking to someone Jesse knew very well. Even though Jesse could only see the back of the man’s head, she knew it was Lee.

Jesse said goodbye to Carter and Sousa and made her way to the bar. Milo, co-owner of Sullivan’s, served Jesse a soda, and she asked, “Has anyone from the 41st Precinct called?”

“No. Why?” Milo answered skeptically.

“Nothing.” Jesse muttered. Milo wandered away to do something behind the bar. She turned to look back toward where Lee, Wilkes and Kaige stood. Kaige shook Lee’s hand before giving him a man hug, complete with a backslap. They separated and Lee made his way toward where Jesse sat.

He slid up onto the empty stool next to his little sister and asked, “Who here knows I am a cop?”

“Everyone at 17, but I doubt any of them would recognize you. Why?”

“You see that overweight man sitting in the third booth?” Lee asked without turning around. Jesse casually looked behind her then turned back to face Lee. The man was overweight and pale. He slumped in his seat and was drinking a tall glass of dark liquor, making no move to deny that he was watching the rears of the women that walked past.

“That is Arthur Conan, a drug smuggler. We believe that man is using Sullivan's to smuggle drugs. I need to prove it, by trying to get the owners to trust me. I'm Maddy Maxwell’s date,” Lee explained. “Does Alex know about this,” Jesse asked, wondering about Alexander Maxwell, Maddy’s older brother and a Narcotics Sergeant from the 41st. “It was Alex's idea. Apparently Maddy lends her heart out too easy,” Lee said, smoothing a hand through his hair, “Don’t tell anyone, I’m breaking enough rules telling you this as it is.” Jesse just nodded, too stunned to say anything.

“Love you.” Lee said before wandering off into the sea of people that inhabited Sullivan’s.

* * *

From where Jesse sat at the bar she could clearly see her brother flirting with the Paramedic In Charge of Ambulance 12, Maddy Maxwell. Sousa sat down next to Jesse on a bar stool and asked, “Do you have a claim on the man that Maddy’s flirting with?”

“No,” Jesse answered quickly before more subtly saying, “No, why?”

“Well, you’re watching him like a hawk, and you’ve got a scowl on your face,” Sousa noticed.

“He just looks a little old to be flirting with her. Doesn’t he?” Jesse asked, hoping her lie wouldn’t show. Lee already broke enough rules practically introducing her to the man he was collecting dirt on, leaving no need to tell Sousa.

“Not really,” Sousa said shrugging before taking a drink from his beer bottle, “Maddy is twenty-nine.” Jesse inwardly chuckled. Lee was a year younger than Maddy, though his time in the army had taken a toll and he could easily pass as older. They sat in silence and Jesse tried her hardest to turn her attention away from Lee. If he were going to be a regular at Sullivan’s, she would have to learn to ignore him.

* * *

Maxwell bounced around the station the next day when they were on shift. She was quite short, but Maxwell could hold her own against the rowdy crew of 17. With her black hair perpetually tied up in a tight bun, she looked like a nurse.

“What has you in such a good mood?” Maxwell’s EMT partner, Leah Sampson asked while they ate breakfast in the common room. The common room was right in the middle of the station and the kitchen sat along the back wall. The long table, which was comprised of three other, smaller, rectangular tables lined one wall while a TV, couch and round table lined the other wall. There was an open walkway through the middle of the room that was often used for chair races. As usual, the guys from Squad took their breakfast back to their table on the rig deck.

Sousa stuck around. He stood next to Jesse and observed the daily camaraderie that unfolded at breakfast before they were too tired to do much more than sit and be quiet. They stood, leaning against the kitchen counter beside the coffee urn facing the common room.

Holding the lukewarm bowl of oatmeal that Squad firefighter, Adam Little, cooked for breakfast, Sousa muttered to Jesse, “I guess that man you don’t know and don’t care about charming worked.” She shook her head in Sousa’s disbelief before gently elbowing him in the side.

“She’s happy,” Jesse muttered, pushing the thoughts of dread from her mind and tried to focus on how happy Maddy was, as if she did not know the man she was interested in.

“So. Who’s the lucky guy?” Senior firefighter, Scott Kilgour asked through a mouth of oatmeal. Kilgour was the eldest firefighter at 17, but if there was an award for overall best firefighter he'd win it hands down.

“Lucky guy?” Maddy Maxwell asked innocently, slipping into the chair next to Leah Sampson, her EMT partner, at the round table.

“Yah. We’ve all noticed. You’re vibrating. Who is it? Spill,” Sampson said before finger jabbing Maddy in the side. Maddy squirmed away.

“I met him last night at Sullivan’s. His name is Leo. He’s a construction worker,” Maxwell said. Jesse bit her lip and turned away from the scene, moving behind the kitchen counter, busying herself in washing her bowl. “Leo,” Jesse shook her head. Lee never was very creative. She noticed that Lieutenant Riley Carter was stabbing at his oatmeal with his spoon, and his face was a dark shade of red. Carter and Maxwell dated for a while a few years ago. Of course, it would be impossible for anything more than dating to happen, as it would break various departmental rules.

* * *

The next few shifts passed uneventfully. Jesse heard from Maxwell, Milo and Kilgour, the owners of Sullivan’s, that Arthur Conan made a few visits to Sullivan’s, spewing around threats. He was getting more and more erratic and was even a suspect in the arson of a competing bar. It had been two weeks since Jesse had last spoken with Lee. Through the anger that Maxwell carried about Arthur Conan, she always lit up when she spoke of “Leo”. Jesse figured that the best way to deal with missing Lee was just to not see him, but she was growing more and more worried by the day.

_Skype communication ceased to work without Internet, though even over the phone, Jesse could tell that Lee was worried. He was worried that he may never come home. One night, after talking with Lee, and handing the phone over to Ben, she overheard them talking._

_“I don’t think that I will be home to see my only sister graduate,” Lee confessed to Ben._

_“Don’t think that way Lee, you don’t know that,” Ben said, though his voice wavered and Jesse knew that he was trying to be brave for Lee._

Jesse stood in the kitchen of house 17 with Sousa. They were in charge of breakfast that morning and had decided to make bacon and eggs. At ten o’clock, the shift two staff slowly wandered in. Milo, Kilgour and Maxwell, arrived last. After changing, everyone amassed in the common room and started to help themselves to breakfast. Usual conversation ensued, but without any mention of Lee. Maddy usually spoke of him every morning.

“What’s got you three in such a rut?” Sousa asked Maxwell, Kilgour, and Milo, who were sitting at the round table behind the couch by themselves, going over something typed out on multiple pieces of paper.

“Its Leo. Her “boyfriend” is a bodyguard for Arthur Conan,” Kilgour snarled in Maddy’s general direction. Jesse’s heart dropped. If they knew he was not a construction worker, how long would it take for Arthur Conan to connect the dots?

“Well, I didn’t know that when he wandered into Sullivan’s and started flirting with me,” Maxwell practically shouted.

“Well you could have asked!” Milo retorted.

“I didn’t see a need to,” Maddy said before getting up and walking away, toward the sleeping area and locker room. Jesse gave her spatula to Sousa and followed Maddy.

“Hey. What happened with Leo?” Jesse posed the question calmly to Maxwell, who sat hunched on the wooden bench in the locker room. Maxwell leaned back and shook out her dark brown hair.

“Arthur came into the bar last night after it closed. He brought two bodyguards with him. One was Leo.” Jesse sat down next to Maxwell. “Arthur smashed one of the liquor cabinets. Leo just stood there, staring at the ground. After they left I phoned Alex, he’s coming by this shift.” Maddy hunched forward again, and Jesse stood up, leaving Maddy and heading out to the sitting room. Jesse had wandered back into the kitchen about a minute before a dispatch came over the PA system.

“Squad 6, Ambulance 12, Truck 29, multi-vehicle accident. Madison Street and Ridge Avenue.” Crew ran everywhere, grabbing their different pieces of clothing, before the rigs pulled out of 17.

It was a brutal three-car accident, and everyone was exhausted by the time they got back to 17. Jesse noticed a black Crown Victoria parked along the sidewalk outside the house. The crew wandered into the common room and saw Alex Maxwell sitting at the long table. He was greeted warmly by every member of the crew, and then pulled his sister aside. She returned to the kitchen a few minutes later and flopped into a chair beside Sampson, a frown visible on her red face.

Alex followed Maddy into the common room and asked, “Is there a Jesse McLeod on shift today?” Jesse stood up and showed Alex into the conference room. When the door shut, Alex commented, “I am surprised that Maddy never guessed that you and Lee are related. You look a lot like him.”

“Did you tell Maddy…that Lee and I are related?”

“No, that’s not for you or me to tell her,” Alex smiled, “Lee is in danger,” Alex’s smile faded, “Arthur Conan is dangerous and does not care if Lee gets hurt in the path of getting what he wants.”

“He’s going to get hurt,” Jesse muttered, acknowledging the truth.

“Lee knew that when he signed up for this OP.” Lee had an adventurous side, which showed when he joined the Army Rangers ten years ago, and when he joined the Chicago PD. He had promised to tone down the adrenaline junkie side of him once he joined the Police and had managed to say out of trouble for about four years.

“Squad 6, Ambulance 12, Truck 29, Engine 17, Battalion 92. House fire, Davis Street and East Prairie Road,” the dispatch announced over the PA.

“That’s my call,” Jesse said as she ran from the conference room, out onto the rig deck. The call occupied the crew for the rest of the shift.

* * *

Arriving home to an empty apartment was nothing out of the ordinary. Ben was working at Chicago Med, so the dwelling was oddly quiet. Utilizing the time she had to herself, Jesse filled out the Squad form. At dinner at the station the night previous, the big talking point was that one of the largest houses in Chicago was down a Squad member, giving Jesse the perfect excuse to apply.

As Jesse walked up to House 17 the next morning, she noticed an old black Honda Civic. Usually, Jesse wouldn’t look twice, but she recognized the license plate. WGR-045. It was Lee’s car and Jesse could clearly see the dark red hair belonging to her brother in the driver's seat, and someone with long, dark brown hair in the passenger's seat. Jesse passed it by, but turned and looked back when she heard the signature squeak of the passenger door opening.

“Morning McLeod!” Maxwell chirped, getting out of the car. Jesse counted to ten in her head to calm down before responding.

“Hello, was that Lee?” Jesse asked, though quickly correcting herself, “Leo. Sorry had a brain fart.”

Maddy cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrows, almost if she was trying to connect some dots, though responded, “It was. Leo and I are together again.”

“Oh…that’s nice.” Their conversation was cut short when they entered the Firehouse.

They were in of the change room for maybe a minute before 17 caught their first call. Jesse and Maddy closed their locker doors and ran toward the rig deck. Sampson and Maddy keep their jackets in their trucks, but Jesse had to get her coat out of the scrub room. In the truck they joked with each other, stopping when they got to the scene. After the fire was out, they packed up and overhauled, the crews headed back to 17. They barely got any more dispatches the rest of shift. Milo, Kilgour, and Maxwell headed to Sullivan’s to prepare for tonight’s drinking hours.

Jesse went back to the apartment and slept. She was woken three hours later to the annoying ringtone of Ben phoning. Too tired to care, Jesse let it go to voicemail. Five minutes later he phoned again. Then, when Chicago Med phoned, Jesse figured that something was wrong and checked her voice mails.

“Jesse, its Ben. It's 12:30. Call me back, it's important.”

“Jesse, come down to Chicago Med when you can. Lee’s been shot. He’s incredibly unstable and currently in the OR.” Jesse flopped against her pillow before getting out of bed. She had guessed this would happen and hoped that Lee would live for her to scold him. Pumped full of adrenaline, Jesse moved like a machine, getting to Chicago Med in less than fifteen minutes.

Ben met her in the waiting room, still dressed in his burgundy scrubs and white lab coat; he sat with Jesse for a few minutes.

“One bullet hit his left shoulder. Missed his collarbone, but shredded muscle and a few arteries and veins. The other two shattered his collarbone. One exited through his back.”

“Lucky,” Jesse muttered, trying to keep her head about her. It would be better that she did not break down into a fit of hysterics, like she did when Lee was injured in Afghanistan. She could still remember the day that Lee left to go fight overseas.

“I guess he’ll get to march in the Remembrance Day parade,” Jesse pointed out. “Yah. His OP’s over now,” Ben replied, leaning over to hold onto Jesse’s hand. She did not notice that she was shaking until Ben held her hand. Ben got up to go back to the ER a few minutes later and Jesse zoned out.

_“When will you be back Lee?” Jesse asked._

_“I don’t know.” Lee knelt down to her eye level, and held his sister’s little hands. He watched Jesse’s face until her eyes made contact with his. “Don’t worry about me. You can write and email. Maybe even Skype.”_

_“Okay,” ten-year-old Jesse muttered. Lee stood up and adjusted his uniform. He said goodbye to Ben, Mom and Dad, before he turned and walked toward the B-29 that sat with its engines running on the dirt tarmac of Camp Meade._

Jesse sat alone in the ER waiting room for three hours, observing the dreary drunk-driving posters on the white walls before Dr. Connor Rhodes found her. He was the same age as Ben. Connor wore burgundy scrubs and a white lab coat, which was rolled up to his elbows. His short black hair stuck up at a funny angle and as all ER staff, he had dark bags under his eyes. He reported that Lee’s surgery went all right and he was in the ICU.

“He’s awake and he’s asking for you.” The McLeod’s had known Dr. Rhodes for years. He and Ben went to high school, than Med School together. Lee was partially reclined in his hospital bed, in a singular room. He wore an oxygen mask and had many monitors attached to his chest and other snaking in and out of the blankets. A bandage was wound around his chest and shoulder. Lee’s shaggy red hair was splayed over his pillow and he had a five o’clock shadow framing his face. Dr. Rhodes stood behind Jesse as she entered Lee’s room. Ben had appeared behind Connor. Jesse approached Lee slowly.

“Hey,” she said and Lee turned his head to face her.

“Hey back,” he said in slightly slurred speech. He had a black eye and a few cuts on his cheek, which Jesse assumed were from broken glass.

“You have got to be more careful,” Jesse said, sitting in the black plastic chair beside Lee’s bed.

“Welcome back little brother,” Ben greeted Lee, as he walked up beside Jesse.

“Ben,” Lee muttered. Jesse watched as medicine was pushed through the IV into Lee’s wrist. Moments later Lee drifted off into a drug induced sleep.

Jesse managed to get home to her apartment before seven that night, a miracle in Chicago traffic on a Tuesday. Once she got home she checked her phone messages. There was one from Maddy Maxwell and one from the Academy. Jesse got the spot on Squad at House 51. It was just the distraction she needed to keep her mind off Lee. She folded the pink transfer sheet and put it in the back pocket of her shift fatigues.

* * *

Jesse walked up to House 17 the next morning feeling uneasy. After she left Lee, Jesse saw a voicemail from Maxwell on her phone. “Hi Jesse,” The voice mail said, “It's Maddy Maxwell. I just wanted to tell you that I broke up with Lee. I’m okay with it and I guess I just wanted you to hear my version. I wish you would have told me, the first time I spoke of Leo, that he was your brother. Hope Lee gets better soon. See you on shift tomorrow.”

Jesse knew what she had to do. If it were too tense at 17, Jesse would hand in the transfer sheet. Even though 17 was one of the best houses in Chicago, Jesse would trade the house that she had know for the two years of her career for the chance to be on Squad.

The air around 17 was heavy and everyone eyed each other warily, as if all their co-workers were spies. Jesse had made up her mind before she put her stuff away in her locker. Squad 3, at House 51 was her choice. At breakfast, Jesse approached Ian Rhead of Squad, who had worked at 51 awhile back due to budget cuts.

51 had a stereotype about it; chaotic and ill managed. It was one of the largest, and quite possibly the biggest house in a rough part of Chicago. They had an abundance of internal affairs issues. A candidate committed suicide, a Squad member was fired for “ducking” on calls, and a civilian aide stabbed a firefighter. They also fostered a serial arsonist within their ranks, the lieutenant of Truck is the alderman of Ward 52 and an EMT was fired for drinking on the job. Jesse understood that she would be walking into heavy fire, but Squad was her calling.

“You’ll do good on Squad,” Lieutenant Rhead told Jesse, “That’s why I put in the recommendation. But keep in mind, 51 has never had a female on Squad before. Their two female firefighters are on Truck. They will expect a male replacement for the dude they put on leave. I know you are completely capable of performing on Squad, you will just have to be careful.” Jesse sat next to the Squad Lieutenant Rhead on the rig deck. The Squad table lived on the concrete bottom floor and directly behind sat the Ambulance and behind the white vehicle was the Squad rig.

Jesse walked through House 17 to get to Chief Lois’s office. Now that she was handing in her pink transfer slip, Jesse saw 17 through new eyes. The pictures that covered the walls, the cracks in the flooring, the imperfections in the bricks, all reminding her of what she was leaving behind. Jesse knocked on the door to Chief Lois’s office. Beside the door, Jesse saw the hole that she had punched in the drywall, two years ago after she couldn’t save a victim on her first call.

“Come in,” Chief Lois’s voice called. Jesse closed the door behind her and sat down in the plastic chair in front of the Chief’s desk.

“My transfer,” Jesse said, placing the unfolded pink sheet on Chief Lois’s desk, “to House 51 Rescue Squad.”

“And I’ll sign it,” Lois said, reaching for his pen, “promise me, McLeod, do not let 51 change you.”

“This is my last shift at 17.” “Go tell your colleagues,”

Chief Lois said, “Congrats Jesse.”

She stood and turned to leave, noticing Terry Sousa standing outside the office, Jesse composed herself. Sousa saw her and hurried down the hall towards the washing machines. It was only then that she realized that the door was not closed all the way.

“Sousa!” Jesse called. He stood with both hands on the dryer, hunched over. “Terry,” she called again when she got closer.

“How long have you been thinking of transferring?” Sousa spat.

“About a month and a half, I only got the spot yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t I say anything?” Jesse parroted, “Sousa, in case you haven’t noticed, we are not together. We were never together. I didn’t tell you, just like I haven’t told anyone else at 17, because, like they are, you are just a friend. A co worker.”

Terry stood there, looking like a hurt puppy, “You were fine telling Rhead,” he said; hurt resonating in his voice.

“She wanted my opinion of Squad 3 at House 51,” Lieutenant Rhead said, materializing behind Sousa.

“51?” Sousa shrieked, his voice jumping an octave.

“Yes, a spot was open,” Jesse, replied matter-of-factly.

“I told her she should do Squad. Be accommodating and supportive, Sousa,” Rhead said, “Now, I think it’s about time for a crew meeting,” Rhead finished putting a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Common room?” Jesse asked, and Rhead ran off to go help gather the crew.

Within five minutes almost everyone was packed into the kitchen. Jesse took a deep breath. She was unsure of how 17 would take her transferring. She was the last candidate that house 17 received, and that was two years ago. “I am transferring,” Jesse announced. Almost all of the jaws in the room dropped. Lieutenant Ian Rhead, who stood at the back of the room, next to Sousa, nodded in encouragement, “to House 51 Rescue Squad.”

A cheer erupted across the room. “This is my last shift at 17.”

“Congrats Jesse!” Scott Kilgour, her mentor, stood up and shouted, “Youngest female to make Squad!”

“Hey. Maybe we’ll get a candidate,” Manuel Florez announced, “Jesse was the last one we had.” She was soon enveloped in the hugs and fist bumps from her colleagues.

After shift, Jesse took a box and pulled all of her stuff out of the locker she had called her own all these years. Then she grabbed her helmet and turnout gear. Jesse took one last look at 17. It would always hold a special place in her heart.

That night, they celebrated at Sullivan’s. Sousa lingered at the bar, and while Jesse felt bad for upsetting him, it was his own fault.

* * *

On her day off, Jesse went to go see Lee, with the intention of seeing Ben as well. The ICU smelt like antiseptic, and the fluorescent lights cast an eerie shadow on everything. Jesse noticed that Lee was sleeping, so she headed to the nurses station.

“He’s unstable,” an African nurse, April Sexton, told Jesse, “His blood pressure is still low and he doesn’t feel hungry. He keeps using the blood transfusions we give him, but they do not help his BP levels. He tries to use his left arm constantly. We have him on Morphine and sedatives. We think that a bullet may have grazed an artery and when he uses his arm, he may have popped the vessel. He goes in for surgery early tomorrow morning. Dr. McLeod signed off on it.”

Jesse nodded then entered Lee’s room. He had a beard and his face looked shallow.

_Lee lay on the hospital bed, facing the ceiling. Jesse came into the room, her face red and dry from crying. Their mom had died of a drug overdose a week ago, about a month after Lee was injured. Lee was sent from the German Military Hospital to Chicago Med, where Jesse had spent the most of her time, trailing after her brother, a new resident doctor at the ER. She walked into Lee’s room, and almost cried out at the sight. The left side of his body was bandaged, from his helmet line to his waist. He had tubes in his mouth helping him breathe and tubes snaking in and out of machines. Jesse covered her mouth to stop from crying out. A nurse stood behind Jesse. She told Jesse that when Lee’s Humvee unit was hit with an RPG, her brother was the sole survivor. He had not yet woken up, but the nurse said that she was sure that Lee could hear if Jesse talked to him._

* * *

Jesse drove up to Firehouse 51 the next morning. Her shift did not start for another five minutes, but Jesse figured that she should go in and meet the chief. After parking her small SUV behind a light blue truck that read “Casey Construction,” Jesse headed inside. She marveled at the size of the firehouse. It was twice the size of 17 and was sparkling clean. 51 had two massive aprons on either side of the bay doors. All the doors were open, exposing the rig deck, where thirty some firefighters, four fire rigs, a battalion car, and an ambulance sat. The crews were doing their post shift evaluations of the equipment, and they were all men.

Chief Wallace Boden was a big man. He sat in his chair like he knew what he was doing and addressed everyone as if he was the President of America. “Your Lieutenant should be pleased to meet you, Jessibelle McLeod,” Chief Boden bellowed.

“I go by Jesse McLeod, sir,” she managed to squeak. It felt like his gaze was drilling holes in her head. It wasn’t like she felt uncomfortable, maybe a little, but he just seemed to be analyzing her.

“I would too,” Boden said, before cracking a toothy grin, “Ah. Here he is,” Boden, said motioning to the Lieutenant standing in the door to the office. Jesse stood and turned to face the man, who leaned cockily in the doorway.

“Severide. This is your new firefighter for Squad, Jesse McLeod.” Jesse shook Lieutenant Severide’s hand. He had greying black hair, and eyes so blue that it was like he could see through you. _Why have the first two people I have met all want to stare into my soul?_ They were about the same height and he reminded her of her father. Jesse would not admit this to anyone, but Lieutenant Severide intimidated her.

He seemed familiar to Jesse, but she could not put her finger on it. “Did you graduate in the Spring 2014 academy class?” Lieutenant Severide asked.

“Yah, I did,” Jesse answered, confused at how his mind worked. It seemed to just jump from topic to topic without stop.

“I knew I recognized the name,” Severide muttered.

“Begging your pardon?” Jesse asked. Then it all clicked. This was the legendary Kelly Severide, son of Benny Severide; and he taught Jesse’s academy class.

“Ah,” Severide said smiling, “You figured it out.”

“What?” This man confused Jesse.

“Come on. We got to introduce you to the crew,” he said before showing her out of the office. For a house with only four other females on shift, two of which are paramedics, Lieutenant Severide was very accepting of her, Jesse noticed. Granted, aside from the length of her hair, Jesse looked like a boy. She had masculine features; narrow hips, broad shoulders, and hardly any chest. It was breakfast time, so Severide gave her the whirlwind tour, introducing her to crewmembers as they went. There was a massive change room with about 50 lockers divided into three double-sided rows. The sleeping room had four rows of five twin-sized beds. The kitchen and common room were all in one area and reminded Jesse of 17.

About thirty people were lined up for breakfast in the common room; either wearing navy blue, black or grey shirts and black pants. “Meet Jesse McLeod, the newest member of Squad,” Severide announced. A few scattered welcomes were exchanged before Severide showed Jesse to the Squad table.

“I guess there is one in every house,” Jesse muttered. She sat down next to her Lieutenant and was introduced to Joe Cruz, Ben Capp, and Tony Vega.

* * *

After shift, Jesse had a new definition of exhaustion. 51 was a busy house. 17 generally caught two to four calls a shift. 51 had a “quiet day” today with twelve calls. She sat in the change room and stared at the locker she was to call her own.

“Hey,” someone said, opening the locker beside Jesse’s. She was the other female firefighter and was on Truck 81. She had darker skin and black hair, Puerto-Rican maybe.

“Hello,” Jesse said, looking up and pushing her red hair out of the way.

“I’m Gabriela Dawson. Truck 81,” she said.

“Jesse McLeod.”

“Have we met? I feel like we have,” Dawson asked.

“This has been a wild day, so I’m going to take a wild guess. Spring 2014 CFD academy training class, Lieutenant Severide’s group,” Jesse listed off her training class. When Dawson’s eyes widened, Jesse knew she was onto something.

“I thought there were only two females in that group,” Dawson said.

Jesse reached up and pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, “My hair was short,” Jesse informed Dawson. She nodded.

“Yes. I remember you now. Though, no offence, I could have sworn you were a guy. You did not come over to introduce yourself.”

“No. I figured I had a better chance in the profession as a guy, or at least a manly woman. Hey what ever happened to that other girl in our group? Jones or something?”

“Rebecca Jones? She got candidacy at 51 while I was redoing my physical exam. She committed suicide three years ago.”

“Oh. That’s unfortunate. I’m sorry to hear that.” Jesse replied, unsure of what else to say. While packing up her things, Jesse noticed multiple messages on her phone. A few from Ben, one from Dr. Rhodes, and one from Chicago Med. Her stomach flipped inside out and her hands shook so much, she dropped her phone. It bounced off the concrete floor and settled screen down. Jesse felt behind her and sat back down onto the wood bench. She could see Dawson watching her with a confused look on her face.

“Hey are you okay?” Dawson asked, picking up Jesse’s phone and handing it to her.

“I don’t know,” Jesse said taking the phone. Her hands shook so hard that it was hard to even open a message. Jesse lived in a medical world. She knew when Lee’s surgery should have ended, and judging by the time the messages were sent, it ended early. Early could mean one of two things, that everything went really well, or really bad. Bad, as in Lee was dead. Jesse pressed the play button and put the phone to her ear.

The first message was from the ICU trauma surgeon, Dr. Jeffrey Clarke, “Hello Jessibelle McLeod, this is Dr. Clarke. I operated on your brother Leopold McLeod. You were listed as one of the emergency contacts. I am very sorry to inform you, but Leopold died during surgery.” Jesse covered her mouth to prevent her from crying out. Even though the message continued playing, Jesse did not hear another word. Her heart ached and tears sprang to her eyes. Jesse blinked furiously to try to regain her composure. She put her phone down on the bench beside her and put her head in her hands. Lee was dead. Her brother was dead. Jesse did not register Dawson sitting down next to her, and when she asked Jesse basic questions, she broke into tears.

When Jesse finally finished crying she phoned Chicago Med. Ben was in the middle of a call in the ER, so she was connected to Dr. Rhodes’s line. Connor was the fellow doctor on call when Lee died. He helped Jesse fill in missing information. Once Jesse gathered her emotions, she packed up and, against Dawson’s protests, drove herself down to Chicago Med.

Connor greeted Jesse at the door to the ER and led her to the ICU visitation room that had been set up for Lee. Since Jesse was on shift when Lee died, he had been dead for about twenty hours. Jesse looked down at her big brother and cried.

They had covered his legs, torso and shoulders with a white blanket. Army style, they had placed his arms over his stomach. She could see the old scarring of shrapnel and flame from five years ago on his right arm and felt a knot twist in her stomach. She sat next to Lee and held his hand, crying for who knows how long. Eventually the tears stopped and Jesse felt like a part of her had been cut off. The pain severed her heart. She reached up to the neck of her shirt. From underneath pulled Lee’s dog tags. Laying them carefully on his hands, she felt her emotions that remained intact start to crack.

Ben came into the room and practically carried Jesse down to the cafeteria. They sat at a booth and drank some coffee. Jesse, having not yet had breakfast, ate a bagel. Other doctors and nurses stopped by the table where Jesse and Ben sat to give condolences. Every time, Jesse tried to block it out, in a desperate attempt to maintain control. Jesse knew that if she lost it, she might never be the same again.

_Jesse heard the front door shut, chairs scraping along the floor in the kitchen, then her mother’s sobs. Desperate to know what was wrong, fifteen year old Jesse crept down-stairs, barefoot and in her pajamas._

_"What’s wrong?" She asked her mother, who sat hunched over at the kitchen table, her shoulders heaving with sobs. Mom passed Jesse an official letter from the United States Army Rangers. Jesse put her hand over her mouth. She took the crumpled letter out of its package and read it._

_"Lee’s been hurt?"  Jesse muttered. Her mother nodded._

_"An RPG hit Lee’s Humvee unit," her mother told her._

_"RPG?"_

_"Rocket Propelled Grenade. He’s in military hospital in Germany," he mother managed to get out between sobs.  It would be two weeks before Jesse came home to her mother unconscious, and later determined to be dead, in the middle of the kitchen._

After a while, Ben left to finish his shift, so Jesse sat by herself. She did not want to go home, there would be too many memories. Instead Jesse sat in the same place, late into the afternoon in the cafeteria.

* * *

Jesse managed to work three shifts over the span of a week at 51 before Lieutenant Severide pulled her aside one afternoon at lunch.

“Come in, sit down,” he ordered Jesse with a worried look on his face. She sat in the plastic chair the lieutenant had indicated. He closed the door to his officer’s quarters and then sat on his desk. The officer’s quarters were separated from everyone else, along the back wall of the bunkroom. There was a desk along one wall and the head of the bed on the other wall.

“You’re off your game,” Lieutenant Severide said, leaning back and bracing his arms on the desk behind him.

“I don’t understand,” Jesse responded, trying to lead her lieutenant off the scent of potential burn-out, though she fully understood what he said. Jesse used to be able to leave her soul at the fire station when they went out on calls. She found that between Lee and the hectic schedule of 51, it was hard to become detached. If you could not detach from the victim’s, Jesse knew that you would get burned out.

“I think you know what I mean,” Severide told her. Damn it. This man knew how to get into your head. Jesse shrugged.

“You’re one hell of a firefighter McLeod, but are you sure that Squad is a good fit?”

“It's not Squad. It's just-,“ Jesse cut herself off.

“It's just what?” He asked, his face morphing into concern.

“My brother died recently. He was a police officer.”

“He took a bullet?” Jesse nodded in response.

“If you need time off…” Severide said, concern in his voice.

“No. I can’t,” Jesse said, finally voicing her concerns, “I’m new here. If I take time off now, you guys will get a replacement. What if you like the replacement better than me?”

“It could happen. But Jesse, for your own mental health, take some time off. I’ve seen you on call you’re too attached. You don’t want to get burned out.”

“I’m fine,” Jesse said, more for her own sake. Severide leaned back and folded his hands behind his head, obviously thinking of something.

“Tomorrow when we get off shift, could you meet me at the Academy, I have something I want to show you,” Severide said and when Jesse nodded, he stood and opened the door to his office.

“Dismissed,” he muttered and she wandered back into the common room.

* * *

Jesse zipped up her jacket before she even dared stepping outside her SUV. She parked in her usual spot across the road from the Academy and smiled at her lieutenant while she got out. He parked his old blue sports car, of a vintage probably older than her own, across the street, beside the Academy. She crossed the street and was greeted with a nod. Following Lieutenant Severide into the large brick building, he showed her down a hall that she had seen once.

The Wall of Fallen Heroes. Severide had been the one to show her group, during basic training, the wall. It stretched along an entire wall and behind the glass were the badges of fallen firefighters and paramedics from the Chicago area. Severide walked down to the far end and stopped at a badge. After that one, only about twenty or so more followed.

He pointed through the glass and said, “Andy Darden. Training to join Squad. Went through the academy with Casey and I. Killed in a house fire. Didn't check the backdraft.”

Moving a few more down the line, Severide continued, “Leslie Elizabeth Shay. My best friend. She was killed in a warehouse fire. Blunt force trauma to the head,” he then turned to Jesse and said, “I understand what you are going through McLeod, but you can’t let it destroy you. You will fall down a wormhole and never be able to crawl out.”

“I assume you are speaking from experience?” Jesse asked.

“Yeah, I drank every night after Shay died, though I sobered up before shift. I visited Las Vegas and tried to drag the entire Squad crew with me. Instead I drove down on my own,” he stopped and chuckled at whatever was running through his head, “I got married to a lady I met at the craps table. And promptly divorced her. You’ll deal with grief in your own way, but don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“I just can’t believe he’s gone. Every time I walk around a corner at our apartment, I think, “Oh Lee will just be around one more corner.” He never is. Work feels like my only outlet,” Jesse told Severide.

“Trust me. Stop moving; take time to get over it, move on. It could save a life. At least, your job.”

“Lee was always there for me, even when my parents weren’t.”

“Jesse, you’re upset. Take time off, just to let go and move on.”

“I guess,” she muttered and fiddled with her wallet in her pocket.

“Take it easy out there,” Severide said, “take some time off. I don’t want to see your badge up on this wall.” They then parted ways and Jesse headed home.

She opened the door to the apartment. Ben sat in the living room.

“Breakfast is on the stove,” Ben called to her from his seat on the couch. Jesse grabbed a plate and piled some cold eggs onto it. She sat down on the couch, next to Ben. Ben was in his burgundy scrubs, ready for his next shift.

“Once I finish my residency, I think I’ll move out,” Ben announced, “I’ve been thinking about it for awhile. Lee’s death just solidified my decision.”

“I assume I’ll have to stay behind?” Jesse asked. They had lived in this apartment together for four years. Occasionally they threatened moving out on each other, but never seriously considered it.

_“I am moving out if you two pigs don’t clean up!” Lee yelled at his siblings one day at breakfast. Jesse and Ben eyed each other quizzically. They both knew the mess was actually Lee’s fault. He would get onto a different fad each month and do it on any spare time he had. Ben cocked his head and gave Lee a look that read; are you serious?_

_“It’s your fault.” They sat for five minutes in silence, before they cracked up laughing. Jesse missed those days before they were all so preoccupied with work. Lee started picking up extra shifts, Jesse training for Squad, and Ben trying to squeak in lab time around his residency schedule._

“Jesse, I’m thirty one. I can’t live with you forever.” Jesse did not know how to react. Instead, she just stormed off to her room and flopped down on her bed. She knew her behaviors was childish, but how could Ben just move away? Now, least of all. After a half hour, she heard the front door open, then close. Ben left to go work his shift.  She checked her watch; Shift two would be on at 17 right now. Jesse grabbed her car keys and drove over to her old house.

* * *

She was welcomed in a chorus of cheers. People fired off questions and Jesse answered graciously. Once the commotion died down, Jesse sat at her old spot, which was now empty, between Maxwell and Sousa.

“Hey. How’s Lee doing?” Maxwell asked. Jesse bit her lip. Apparently Maxwell had not seen the news. “Precinct 41 officer killed in gunfight at CFD bar.” Jesse shook her head.

“Oh my goodness Jesse, I’m so sorry.” Maxwell put her arm around Jesse’s shoulders. She anticipated the tears, and when they came, Jesse got up and wandered into the change room. She paced up and down the row of lockers, crying.

_Jesse and Ben sat at the back of the auditorium. It was almost Lee’s turn. Three candidates, two candidates, one. Jesse shifted anxiously in her chair._

_“_ _Leopold McLeod,” the Captain announced. Jesse watched her big brother stand up and walk across the stage. The man in the stuffy uniform gave Lee a certificate and a shiny gold badge mounted on black leather. Lee took it and turned to look into the crowd. Ben and Jesse were his only family. Who knows if dad is dead? Lee caught her eye and gave a little nod before exiting the stage._

“Hey. Jesse, are you okay?” Sousa’s voice snapped her back into the present and she whirled around to face him. Jesse’s face was blotchy from crying and she was breathing shallowly. Jesse stared at Sousa before exploding at him.

“Do YOU think I’m OKAY?” Jesse shrieked, “My BROTHER was just KILLED a week ago and I am PACING and CRYING in the LOCKER ROOM of a FIREHALL that I used to WORK at. Do I LOOK OKAY to you?” Jesse was sure she had lost it.

“I was just wondering if you were hurt,” Sousa said calmly, “The last time you acted like this, you punched a hole in Chief Lois’s wall.”

“AHHH!” Jesse shouted, “I don’t even know any more!” Then, just as she felt before, an overwhelming need to punch something fell over Jesse. It was the only thing on her mind and it was uncontrollable. Her vision narrowed on her old locker, and she could hear the blood pulsing in her ears. In one explosive move, Jesse channeled all her anger, into one spot on her old locker door. In one hit, all her built up rage cleared, and a dent jointed the other marks and scuffs on the doors. Jesse’s hand throbbed and screamed at her in pain. She took a step back and put her unhurt hand to her head. Sousa walked quickly to her side and pulled Jesse into a hug.

“It’s okay,” Terry whispered into her hair. Jesse could not remember the last time someone had hugged her. It was nice. “Let's get you home.”

* * *

Jesse figured that she had fallen asleep in Sousa’s car on the drive back to her apartment because she woke up in her bed. Her clock indicated that it was midnight. Jesse tossed and turned, then eventually got up and went out to the living room. Ben was on shift tonight and her dad, who knows where he went? Jesse flopped on the couch and turned on the television. The TV was still on the ESPN channel. Lee always watched ESPN. Jesse broke down into sobs. She stood and walked to the bookshelf, filled with old VHS recordings and disks. They were the documents of their lives that their mother insisted in making. Each labeled with a year and I an occasion, Jesse selected one she had never seen before. It was in a disk case and labeled “Christmas.” Jesse frowned as she took it out of its case. It was by far the newest and the handwriting on the case was Lee’s. She pushed it into the DVD player and grabbed the remote. Standing in the middle of the room, the screen lit up. It was Lee and Ben sitting in the kitchen, the camera facing them and they wore average clothing.

“Good morning Jesse,” Lee said, “You’re at work right now and we are making this video for you.”

“We know how much we mean to you and you are our little sister. This is for you.” Tears were involuntarily running down her face and Jesse wiped them away, curious to see what they were making. “2005” flashed on the screen and a video that her mother had taken the morning Lee shipped out to Afghanistan. Jesse was sitting on the edge of Lee’s bed while he was clipping all his badges on. Next, the picture that hung on her locker door appeared. The funny thing was Jesse believed that it was actually a picture of her locker door.

“Yes,” Ben said, “it's your locker door at 17.”

“The Chief let us in to take a picture of it and scan some other pictures.” It continued for about a half hour and Jesse couldn’t believe how much effort was put into it. The screen when black for a few seconds and Jesse thought that it was over so she turned to get a glass of water.

“I’m so sorry Jesse,” a voice on screen rasped. Jesse whirled around and saw on the television was a video of Lee taken just weeks ago, lying in the hospital bed. “I made you promise to stay safe the morning I left but instead I broke the promise myself. I’m sorry for leaving you and Ben to go fight. I’m sorry that I was hurt then and I’m sorry now. Never give up hope Jesse because when you lose hope, you lose everything.”

* * *

* * *

 

**November 11, 2016**

Standing amongst other firefighters, police officers and war veterans, Jesse couldn’t help but squirm. She rearranged her navy blue Chicago Fire Department uniform. Her badge was clipped to one of her breast pockets and Jesse’s other medals were sewn to the other pocket. Wrestling with her white gloves, Jesse tried to pull them on over top of other gloves to prevent her hands from freezing. She pulled her white formal hat snug over her mass of red hair escaping from the sad bun. It started snowing lightly as Jesse was given a large “Lest We Forget” sign.

The snare drums beat rhythmically as the mass of people in lines of ten marched through the streets of Chicago. Following them was the Chicago Civil Symphony, playing a slow, solemn song. Jesse looked around and saw people smiling, crying or simply standing there. The crowd along the side of the road all wore dark colours except for a few children, who wore colourful parkas. Smiling, Jesse remembered Lee, and how she was determined to continue marching in the parade for him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is very not beta-ed. This is a first draft kind of thing that I wrote over two years ago. I just decided to post it just because.
> 
> I do not own any of the characters from the One Chicago franchise.


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